Wouldn’t it be great if it was as easy as just looking away when Death taps us on the shoulder? Rather a cryptic chap.

I Looked Away

A tap on my shoulder
Excuse me?
I’m death
I beg your pardon
Not necessary, I’m death
It’s time

Surely, you’ve made some mistake
No mistake, it’s time
You must have the wrong address
But, I’ve made no preparation
No one ever does

Perhaps next week
It’s time
But, you’ve made no appointment
Never do
Didn’t even knock
Never do

First a letter, not so much to ask
Should have written last week
But I didn’t know
That’s what they all say
I suppose you’ve heard it all
Heard it all

So, where are we going?
Can’t say, it’s not allowed
You seem so ordinary
Death is always ordinary
Have we met before?
Several times, you looked away

Poetry Collection: The Smell of Tweed and Tobacco
This poem is included in
Jim Freeman’s
poetry collection


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